The Face of Terror
by Eddie Brock
Summary: Carl is terrified of Michael Myers, movie or not. But what happens when his greatest fear comes true, and Michael comes to kill him? Oneshot.


_**This is just a oneshot. It was an idea I had for a short film, but since I have no cameras, no crew and no patience I turned it into a short story. Enjoy and please review!**_

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Carl stared over his shoulder nervously before he continued watching the movie. No matter how many times he watched it it never failed to scare him to death. I, mean, how could it not? Michael Myers is probably the scariest character in movie history. His face hidden by a blank, expressionless pale white mask. And what made him even scarier was the fact that you didn't know a thing about him; what he looks like, why he kills... Carl didn't care why, Michael just scared the crap out of him and that was enough.

In the movie, Laurie, who had been trapped in the closet by Michael, had just stabbed him with his own knife, sending him falling to the floor. After clambering out of the closet and telling the kids to leave, silence was restored. Carl's heart was pounding fast as Laurie slid against the wall to the floor, her in the foreground and Michael lying motionless in the background. Carl thought his heart was going to pound out of his chest when, all of a sudden, the phone rang. He jumped in fright, kicking the coffee table and scrambling for the remote, hitting the pause button. "Dammit!" he growled rubbing his shin.

Stumbling towards the phone, he picked up with an agitated "What!" After a few seconds he slammed the phone on the hook in annoyance. "Damn phone solicitors," he grumbled plopping back onto the couch. He grabbed the remote and was about to hit the play button when something caught his eye.

He sat, frozen in shock at the image on the screen. Was Michael... breathing? Carl regained control of his body and slid off the couch and cautiously made his way to the tv. He stopped when he was merely inches away from the screen and, once again, froze. There was no mistaking what he was seeing. Michael **WAS** breathing. Carl was dumbfounded by the sight. It was just a movie and paused, at that, so how in the hell was Michael breathing? Slowly, he reached a finger up and touched it to the screen. Nothing out of the ordinary there, just a normal plasma screen tv. He pulled back his hand and stood to his feet. It was stupid of him to think that something strange was happening. He shook his head, feeling stupid. He went back over to the couch and sat down. Rubbing the sweat off his forehead, he nearly laughed when Michael sat up.

He jumped, flinging the remote from his hand sending it smashing into the wall. Not wasting any time, Michael stood to his feet and walked towards the screen. Laurie's image was still frozen on the screen as it was supposed to be. Carl was shaking in fear as Michael knelt behind Laurie, his knife in hand. "No..." Carl spluttered. Michael stared straight through the screen directly at Carl, before grabbing frozen Laurie by the shoulder and plunging the knife into her chest, pulling her off screen. Carl was hysterical as sounds of ripping flesh and crunching bone emanated from the tv. After a few more seconds, Michael reappeared on the tv, his mask stained with crimson red blood, his knife dripping with the same.

Carl's mind was racing. This couldn't be happening. It had to be some sort of terrible acid trip. Yeah that was it! He had taken some bad crap and was hallucinating his ass off! Suddenly, the screen exploded in a flurry of sparks. Carl grabbed his head, protecting his face from the shower of sparks. He quickly looked back to see a hand jutting from the tv clutching a bloodied knife. Then another hand poked out from the tv and grabbed the side, followed by a head. Michael looked around the room and spotted Carl still frozen on the couch. For a few seconds the two simply stared, before Carl slipped off the couch and bolted for the front door.

He unlocked it and twisted and yanked at the knob, but to no avail. Not giving up, he took a few steps back and ran, smashing his arm into the door. It didn't even budge. He tried again, but to the same result. He resulted to kicking it, slamming his foot into the door trying to break it open. To his left only a few feet away was Michael, standing in the doorway to the living room. "Shit!!!" Carl screamed giving the door one last slam with his shoulder. Unexpectedly, the door flew off its' hinges and Carl was sent careening through the opening, crashing onto the paved walkway of his porch. Stunned, he flipped over just in time to see Michael slide in front of the doorway like a ghost. Carl scrambled a few feet backwards as Michael stepped towards him his knife still clutched tightly in his hand. Carl pushed himself to his feet and turned to run when he felt a hand clasp the back of his shirt bringing him to a halt. Michael pulled him in close, wrapping his arm around Carl's neck. "God damn!!!" Carl screamed. He tried to pry Michael's arm from around his neck, but his grip only grew tighter. Carl pulled forward with all his strength and then swung his head back as hard as he could, smashing the back of his head into Michael's face, connecting hard. Michael's arm slipped from around his neck and Carl stumbled forward, clutching the back of his head before breaking out into a full-on run.

He shot down the street, not even looking back. Where the hell was he supposed to go? Who would believe that Michael fucking Myers had come out of his tv and tried to kill him? He looked back at his house, but Michael was no where in sight. He stopped for a second looking all around for a sign of Michael. He spun around looking left and right, but no Michael. Relieved he bent over to catch his breath. Well, it was official, this was no acid trip. After a minute or so he stood back up looking left and right, but Michael was still nowhere to be seen. He turned to look down the other end of the street, but instead of empty street there was Michael, knife raised. Carl quickly stepped back as the knife whizzed by his throat missing by less than an inch. Carl yelled out in shock and grabbed his throat, stumbling backwards. For a split second Carl had thought that his throat had been slashed, but, noticing it hadn't, he turned and ran towards the nearest house.

All his fear had came back in a flood as he stared up at the house in front of him. The lights were out and the car in the driveway was gone. He sprinted across the grass and grabbed the door handle and the door swung open. Surprised that the door had been unlocked, he slammed it behind him and locked both locks. Looking around frantically, he grabbed the bookcase sitting next to the door and shoved it as hard as he could and it ground its' way across the floor until it blocked the doorway. By the door, he spotted a baseball bat, which he grabbed. Bat at the ready, out of the window, he spotted Michael walking calmly up the walkway. Clutching the bat tighter, he listened as Michael rattled the door handle. Realizing that it wasn't working, Michael began slamming the door with his arm just like Carl had earlier. The bookcase teetered and books slid off the shelf, crashing to the floor with a thud. A few more books fell, but then there was nothing. Carl lowered the bat in confusion and stared at the now still bookcase. Cautiously, he stepped towards the window. He peered out, but Michael was gone. He thought for a second and kicked himself. The back door! He'd left it unprotected!

"Fuck!" he bellowed running through the house to the back. The back door was open, which meant that Michael was in the house. He ran into the kitchen to get out of the house when a knife sliced through the air. He ducked it just in time, but lost his footing and stumbled forward smashing onto the table bringing it down on himself. Quickly he shoved it off sending it into Michael, pushing him back. Wasting no time, Carl shot to his feet, bat still in hand and ran for the door, but stopped. Slowly he turned around to face Michael. Angrily, Michael flung the table away and simply stood staring at Carl, his chest heaving. Carl's face contorted in rage. He was sick and tired of being scared of Michael. Ever since he was a kid he had been scared of Michael coming to life and trying to kill him and he was **FUCKING** sick. "You want me that badly you mother fucker!!!" Carl roared flinging his arms over his head. "Come fucking get me!!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. Michael obliged him and, in two steps, closed the distance between them and swung the knife, but Carl ducked it and brought the bat upwards into Michael's chin. He stumbled backwards and Carl stepped forward, swinging again the bat connecting with Michael's leg causing him to fall to his knees. Michael dropped the knife from his hand and Carl was set up for a homerun. Drawing back as far as he could, he swung with all his might as he screamed, "**FUCK YOU!!!!!**" The bat connected with a sickening crack and Michael toppled over sideways. The swing was so forceful that Carl himself tipped over and fell to the ground right next to Michael.

He breathed in huge gasps of air as sweat trickled down the side of his head. Turning his head, he stared at Michael's ripped mask as blood poured out of it and onto the floor. Heavily, he pulled himself from the ground and steadied himself on the counter. He took one last look at Michael, who still lay motionless on the floor and turned to leave. He limped towards the door when he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his back causing him to scream out in pain. Falling to his knees he looked back and there stood Michael with blood dripping from his knife; Carl's blood. "No..." Carl choked clutching at his back, which was slick with blood. Michael then plunged the knife in his back again and Carl fell forward on his hands and knees. He could hear screaming, but it took him a second to realize that it was him. He felt another incredibly intense pain in his back and he felt his body seize up before his arms gave out and he crashed to the ground. He reached a bloodied hand forward to try and drag himself, but he only had enough strength left to flip himself over. His face was wet with tears as his mouth filled with blood. He choked and blood spurted out, as Michael simply stared down at him. Michael's mask clung loosely to his face and the rip in it was stained with his own blood. "F-fuck... you..." Carl spluttered, blood flowing out of his mouth.

Michael raised his knife for one last time, the metal glinting in the low light and swung down hard. Just as the knife connected he shot up in his bed screaming himself deaf. Confused, he stared around, grabbing at his perfectly uninjured back. Realizing that it had all been a dream, he flopped himself back onto his sweaty pillow and calmed his breathing. A freaking dream. That's all that had been. He chuckled to himself. It was a dream he **DEFINITELY** wasn't going to forget any time soon. Laughing out loud, he flipped himself over. He needed to sleep; he had work tomorrow.

It HAD all been a dream, but little did he know, dreams aren't as unreal as he thinks. Dreams are a separate reality where people live their greatest fantasy or face their worst nightmare. Although it had only been a dream it hadn't ONLY been a dream. As he slipped back to sleep, he didn't notice the figure in the corner of his room. He didn't notice the knife it gripped in its' hand. He didn't notice its' face, covered by a blank white mask. And he didn't notice that his worst nightmare... was real.


End file.
